


The Hospitality of Strangers

by ishouldwritethatdown



Category: The Penumbra Podcast
Genre: Canon Asexual Character, Developing Friendships, Gap Filler, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Other, Platonic Relationships, Post-Time Gone By, Queerplatonic Relationships, Season/Series 02
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-06
Updated: 2021-02-06
Packaged: 2021-03-18 09:15:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29241204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ishouldwritethatdown/pseuds/ishouldwritethatdown
Summary: Buddy and Jet had very well-thought-out plans. Last week, they were a family of two, scoping out a potential ally, and in line to recieve the ten thousand creds they needed to proceed with the next stage of their plans. Then Juno walks into the Martian desert, Vespa walks back into Buddy's life, Rasbach walks out with their ten thousand creds, and all they have to their name is a hovercycle, an old bar with radiation leaks in the ceiling, and a lot of catching up to do.
Relationships: Buddy Aurinko & Jet Sikuliaq, Buddy Aurinko/Vespa Ilkay, Vespa Ilkay & Jet Sikuliaq
Comments: 6
Kudos: 31





	The Hospitality of Strangers

Jet let himself into the Lighthouse and latched the door behind him. He tapped the toes of his boots on the dust mat and lowered his mask and goggles, taking a breath of the old honey-pine scent of the bar.

“Just in time for opening,” Buddy greeted, and finished off her tumbler of whiskey. “You know darling, perhaps a five-year hiatus was just what Buddy Aurinko’s Lighthouse Bar needed. We’ve been positively flushed with bookings. It seems we’ve garnered a certain amount of exclusivity.”

“You have always been adept at branding,” he lifted the counter hatch to get behind the bar, and she followed after him.

She smiled, “Thank you,” and he didn’t feel the need to tell her it hadn’t strictly been a compliment. Neither had it been a criticism. Besides, she was already asking, “How is our second-favourite one-eyed lady currently residing on Mars, darling?”

“I do not know. I last saw Juno several hours ago.” He kept his jacket on – the bar would warm up as the evening progressed, but he would need it until then. He checked that the ice wells were full and that there were garnishes cut and ready in the fridge. Everything was in order; Buddy had evidently been cleaning up and prepping the bar in his absence.

She finished washing out her glass. “Did he say thank you?”

“Yes.”

“Really?” She sounded surprised as she turned to him, drying the tumbler and returning it to its home.

He got a new roll of receipt paper out from under the counter and set it next to the tillpoint. It was running low, so this way he could replace the old roll as soon as the till beeped at him. “He said those words in that order.”

This was not a lie. It still did not fool Buddy, sour-faced with her hands on her hips. “What an ungrateful little madam. After everything you did for him.”

“It makes no difference to me whether he thanks me or not.”

She patted his shoulder as she passed behind him. “I know, darling. Do you think he’ll call?”

“I do.” He looked up and across the barroom. Their guest was scrutinising the Music Machine, its list of tracks printed in faded script on the other side of its glass. It was playing one of its more interesting tracks, with a steady, soft percussion beat. Jet was amused by the idea that the S.A.M.M. had grown tired of Juno’s berating, and specifically saved the good music for when he left. Though, of course, this was absurd. The Machines were semi-autonomous, but they were not sentient. “How is Vespa?” he asked.

The corner of Buddy’s mouth twitched into something less than a smile for a moment, looking over at her lost-love-returned. “I don’t know,” she said, and contained within those three words were all the rest. She felt she _should_ have known, despite the years apart. That she should always know, regardless of time or distance.

Jet was about to remind Buddy that this was irrational and needlessly harsh on herself for something she had no control over, but Vespa was walking over to them, arms crossed, brow furrowed, so he saved his words for later. Her steps were sharp and sure, as was the distance she left between herself and the bar that Jet stood behind. “You were talking about me,” she announced.

“Yes,” he agreed. “To ask how you were. I realise that question is quite open-ended; I should clarify that I mean to ask how you are finding the Lighthouse.”

She passed her eyes around the barroom. The warm glow of the lights on the dark wood, real and polished, the plush seating, the framed artwork giving the walls a sense of dignity. “She does clean up nice, I’ll give her that. All the years we spent looking at the Lighthouse as we went sailing by, and we never knew this place was here.”

“The previous owner was just desperate to sell the place when I got here. It took some doing, making it nice, after so long being left to gather dust.” She passed him the piping hot mug of Jovian tea she had made for him, leaning into his shoulder with her other hand for an extra moment. “But as my mother always said, if you’re going to do something, you might as well invest everything you have and say damn the consequences.”

“A questionable piece of advice,” he remarked, as many of Buddy’s mother’s alleged ‘sayings’ were, and took a sip of tea. It was perfectly steeped and perfectly scalding.

Vespa’s eyes darted to Buddy, back to Jet, and then back again.

“I am Jet Sikuliaq,” he said, reasoning that Buddy had likely not divulged his name when she was catching Vespa up on the fifteen years since their separation. It was not something he preferred to be known, as he did not like the snap judgements that people tended to make about his character based on his name. It was not that they were inaccurate – quite the opposite. Almost everything people in the Cerberus Province thought about the name Jet Sikuliaq had been true, once. That was precisely the problem.

She did not have an emotive reaction to the name, but she no doubt recognised it. She fixed him with a penetrating kind of look, as if trying to dig something out from behind his eyes, but when she looked to Buddy again, it was with a flicker of uncertainty. “He’s… your partner?”

“Hmm,” Buddy pondered with one elbow resting on the bar and propping up her chin with the heel of her hand. She tilted her head to Jet. “How do you feel about that word?”

“It could be apt. We have spent most of the last seven years together and conduct our business cooperatively. However, the word is ambiguous and could be easily misconstrued.”

“Yes, agreed.”

He looked back to Vespa. “I feel it best to clarify, although it is not strictly an answer to your question, that Buddy and I are not involved sexually or romantically. We never have been, nor ever will be. This is absolutely certain.”

“Oh.” Something in her shoulders shifted. Not quite relief, definitely not relaxation. But there was some expression on her face, and Buddy must have interpreted it as a curiosity, because just as the bell above the door chimed to announce the first customers, she cleared her throat and indicated one of the private booths in the back of the barroom.

“Let’s take a seat, darling. This one isn’t reserved for a couple of hours yet. I trust you’ll be alright at the bar, dear?”

“Of course,” he said. The customers were a small party all chatting. Jet recognised them, but did not know their names, and they gave him a friendly nod as they approached the bar without interrupting their conversation. One of the people, a man with a wide grin and a trail of dried blood on his earlobe, ordered a number of drinks and asked to open a tab.

The bar quickly filled up. There were old regulars, people who asked after Buddy and tried to strike up conversation with him – it was as limited as it ever was, and they didn’t seem to mind any more than they used to. Mostly, if patrons talked to the bartender, they didn’t really care who it was that was listening. Just as long as someone was. That was what Buddy said, when he had asked her if he ought to be trying to engage with people who spilled their problems over the Lighthouse Bar. Still, he got to know them quite well this way, their quirks and problems. Occasionally he would offer up advice, if he happened to think it was applicable and they seemed particularly in need of it. This was how it was that most of the people who called him their ‘friend’ did not know his name.

There were plenty of people he didn’t know, too, that came in with the rush. Newcomers to the Cerberus Province, people who had only ever heard of Buddy Aurinko’s Lighthouse Bar, never stepped foot in it. They commented on how nice the place looked, and were caught in the allure of the house specials.

Many of Buddy’s patrons, the ones who weren’t committed to nursing their drinks in the shadows and letting money change hands under the tables, were colourful characters. All the same, Vespa’s bright green hair was distinctive as she wove through the barroom to come and stand in front of the bar. She said something that was lost in the noise of the bar, and he asked her to repeat herself.

“Bud said to tell you she’s parched, and you’d know what to get her,” she said. Her shoulders were hunched, and she leaned away from everyone who came close, like they were magnetic poles being repelled from each other. Her hands were in her pockets, but Jet could tell they were clenched around concealed knives.

Although opening the bar had largely been a cover for the purposes of the deal with Rasbach, it was unfortunate that the night had been cut short by Vespa’s intervention and the patrons driven out. Especially now that they were practically penniless. Buddy would spin it – for a limited time only, Buddy Aurinko’s Lighthouse Bar was open for business. More precisely, they were open until they ran out of stock, and then that would be it. They would count their earnings, hope the solar panels they’d rigged up to the Lighthouse without anybody’s permission had performed their function, and hope that they came out the other side in the green. They had schemes, tried and tested, for helping cashflow problems. But even that would take time to arrange, and with luck the Lighthouse would buy them that time.

“It will be a moment,” Jet said. “Would you like to come behind the bar while you wait?”

She hesitated, did a few quick glances around her, and nodded. He lifted the hatch on the counter to let her in. She leaned against the back counter with her arms crossed over her chest.

“What’s the special treatment, Ice? Thought I was your favourite,” said Trick. She was fairly inebriated already, and did not actually seem to care for an answer, which was convenient, because Jet did not plan to give one. Trick had been quite convinced, once, that she knew him from somewhere, eventually concluding that they had been in prison together. Jet did not actually know if this was true, so he allowed her to keep thinking it, and calling him by a nickname that he assumed originated in this alleged jailtime.

He ran out of ice and ducked into the back room to fetch some more. When he came back, someone was shouting over the noise, “Hey, green-hair! I’m talking to you! What, I paid your crazy cover charge and now I don’t even get service?”

Vespa did not look bothered, but Jet did not like his tone. He placed himself between her and the bar, dropped the ice at his feet, and said, “You will stop.”

Jet was significantly taller and broader than the man’s previous target for abuse. He squared his shoulders and scowled, “You don’t want to cross me, pal. If you don't pick up some respect fast, I can have this place in splinters before the sun comes up tomorrow morning.”

It was not the first time someone had threatened to tear the Lighthouse to pieces. It would not be the first time someone attempted it if he followed through with that threat – but Jet had never had any problems deterring these kinds of nuisances in the past, and he saw no reason to treat this case differently. “You will not.”

“Oh yeah? What makes you think you can tell me what to do?”

Over his shoulder, Dizzy held up two fingers at Jet. They had been waiting for some time now, and he did not need the reminder of their order, but it was a convenient enough reason to divide his attention. He took two pint glasses from the rack – running low – and pulled a pair of beers while he said, “I imagine you will be occupied elsewhere. This is partly because you are very close to being unwelcome in this establishment. But mostly because we do not have a cover charge. You were scammed.”

He blinked as Jet passed the beers into Dizzy’s hands and they returned to their table, whistling a thank-you. The man gestured in the direction of the entrance, “You mean the guy at the door wasn’t working for you?”

He had not seen such a person, but it was a common enough scam. He was somewhat surprised that someone had taken advantage of the Lighthouse so quickly, but they were probably relying on the relative chaos of the reopening. Not to mention the foolishness of self-important people who believed it was their right to be waited on wherever they went. “They were not, never have been, and never will be. I suggest looking in the dockyard. They will likely want to make a quick exit from the Cerberus Province now that you have loudly announced that you know you have been scammed.”

His mouth gaped for a moment, closed and opened again, before he snatched up his coat from the bar where he laid it and stormed out, chased by some laughter by those patrons who were close and sober enough to have heard the exchange.

Jet tipped the ice into the well and glanced over his shoulder at Vespa. “Are you alright?”

She cleared her throat and scratched the back of her head. Her voice was quiet enough that those beyond the bar probably couldn’t hear it when she said, “Yeah. I didn’t, uh. Realise he was real.”

“Do not worry about it. Ignoring him was likely the best thing you could have done.” He took a martini glass from the racks. “If you do not mind, would you load the dishwasher? We are running low on some glasses, and counter space.”

“Sure,” she pushed off the counter and took the tray of used glasses into the back. By the time he could hear the machine chugging away and she returned, he had Buddy’s drink ready, and he thanked her for her help as he lifted the counter hatch to let her out.

The remainder of the night was relatively straightforward. There was one fight, taken outside before Jet even had to ask – nobody wanted to be kicked out of the Lighthouse Bar. It was the best public house in the Cerberus Province, and it had only just opened for business again. When it was closing time, he had to turn out a few patrons who were too drunk to know how late it was, and a party whose conversation barely stopped flowing as they paid their tab and left, probably to Sal’s, formerly Wickan’s, the all-night diner, which often got the Lighthouse’s dregs.

“You look tired, Buddy. I will take care of the bar.”

“I resent that accusation, and I will most definitely refute the living daylights out of it just as soon as I’ve had a nice long nap,” she sighed, releasing the roll of receipt paper that the till had spit out for cash-up. There was little use in trying to examine their earnings at this stage, but it would not stop her. She liked to know the numbers, and then loudly announce that they didn’t matter because Buddy Aurinko could do anything she set her mind to. She look his arm and leaned her head against his shoulder, “Are you sure?”

“Of course, Buddy. Get some rest.”

“Well, I’ll certainly try, although I am still mourning the loss of our lovely ship. The backroom of the bar is hardly the five-star vessel we had planned to be occupying at this stage.” This was an exaggeration that Jet did not feel the need to point out. The Red Camelia had been far from a five-star cruiser, although it was admittedly nicer than the makeshift beds they had set up in the back room, in amongst the stock and heated primarily by the dishwasher and a cheap space heater. She kissed him on the cheek and turned to Vespa. “Are you coming, love?”

“I can help clean up. If—you want,” she said, looking at Jet.

“That will make things faster.” He picked up a bar rag and fished the bottle of surface cleaner from under the counter. “Please wipe down the tables with this cloth, and place the seats of the chairs on top, so that we can clean the floor.”

Vespa was rigorous and focused – with a speciality in medicine, that seemed appropriate. If there had been any lingering dust from the bar’s hiatus, it was swiftly eliminated, and the dark wood of the tables and bartop shone like never before.

On the whole, they worked in silence, save for the Music Machine, and the whirring of the dishwasher, and the faint sound of Buddy’s snoring in the back. But after long enough to arrange his thoughts, he settled on the opening, "You know, Vespa, we share some things in common.”

She was leaning on the top of the mop handle, which she had just twisted into the bucket’s strainer with finality. “Affection for the colour green?” she suggested.

That was funny. Jet made a mental note of the subtle smile that turned up the corners of her mouth when she told the joke; not a performance, like Juno’s constant wisecracking. She was smiling because she found it funny, not with any expectation of a reaction from him. He also noted that she had clearly been paying attention to the colour of his hovercycle and the care he gave his boots. He said, “For example: we both care for Buddy a great deal. However else we may differ, I think this could see us becoming great friends."

She did not respond for a moment, taking the bucket and tipping it out into the sink. “Thanks, Sikuliaq. Not everyone I’ve stabbed on the first meeting is so open to friendship.”

“That surprises me. It sounds like you have had some very ungrateful patients.”

She stared at him for a moment. Then she let out a single bark of laughter that was loud, and coarse, and left a smile on her face. She replaced the mop and bucket against the wall just inside the backroom just as the dishwasher beeped, and she went to retrieve the final load of glasses.

“Thank you, Vespa. I can finish up from here.”

“Alright. Night, Sikuliaq.”

He got five hours of sleep. Eight would have been ideal, but he found himself unable to slip back into restfulness once he woke up in the dim light of the backroom. Between the shelves, he should have been able to see Buddy curled under her duvet, but she was evidently already awake – or else had suddenly developed a tendency to sleepwalk. This seemed less likely.

He found her sitting in the bar in her dressing gown, sipping an espresso martini and flicking through her comms. “Your tea’s on the side,” she said, without looking up. “Kettle should heat up fairly quickly, I boiled it not long ago.”

He pressed the switch on the kettle and checked his mug; two teabags sat ready in it. There were also pastries in a box on the bartop, from Sal’s. An apple turnover and a raspberry crown.

“The raspberry crown is for Vespa,” she said, in answer to his questioning glance.

He put his apple turnover on a plate and poured his tea. He did not mention that they did not have the funds for Buddy to buy breakfast pastries every day, or that he had perfectly good granola to sustain him. He simply sat down across from Buddy and glanced over her notes. He could not read them well upside-down, but he could see plainly enough that she was trying to source a new ship. “If we need—” he started.

“We’re not selling the bike,” she cut him off.

“We may have to.”

“No,” she looked up, fixing on him her most determined glare, with both eyes. Her hair was pinned back away from her face, as it tended to be when she was in the planning phase of something. “I will not have you sacrifice anything more of yours on my account. Besides, we’ll need the bike. There’s not a single ship worth stealing in the Cerberus Province, and we can’t very well walk across Mars.”

“I could sell it and steal it back.” They would have to choose the buyer carefully, but it was a relatively simple setup.

The lens adjusted in her left eye as it refocused on her comms. “Darling, I know gambling in the traditional sense was never one of your more serious issues, but even you must know that you shouldn’t stake anything you aren’t prepared to lose.”

He bit into his apple turnover. It was slightly overbaked, but the sweet filling made up for it. Buddy sighed and placed her elbows on the table, her head in her hands. He drank his tea while it was still hot, and waited. He was waiting for a while.

“We missed each other by days,” she said quietly. She took her hands away to look across the barroom or some other, less tangible point in the distance, and left the knuckles of her right hand resting against her mouth. Her good eye was watery, and her voice was strained. “It’s hard to know exactly how long, but… less than a month, Jet. Two years waiting up there, and I missed her by… a few days.”

He placed his mug down and contemplated it. “If I had not pulled you out when I did, there would have been none of you left to meet with her.”

She closed her eyes, and he heard the soft click of the shutter across the left. “I know. I know, I’m not blaming you, darling, I never would. It’s just…”

“I understand.” They sat in silence for another stretch of time, her looking at the barroom while he sipped his tea.

When she finished her drink, he got up to make her a new one, less creamy than her first so as not to upset her stomach. It was one of the house specials – Cerberus Sunset, with its warm gradient of red to yellow. It was an evening drink, but it was one of her favourites. He made an exception, and set it down in front of her.

“Buddy,” he began eventually.

“I don’t want you to leave, Jet.” She slid her gaze to him like she had been expecting it.

“I did not get to finish my sentence.”

“Well, unless it was something unrelated to that topic I don’t want to hear it,” she said, injecting some of her trademark bluster into her tone by force since it didn’t seem to be coming naturally. “I really don’t think I can do this without you.”

“Which ‘this’ are you referring to?” he asked. “The search for the Curemother Prime, or repairing your relationship with Vespa?”

“Try life in general,” she sipped her drink. “What in the world would I do without these cocktails? Scarcely bears thinking about.”

He did not press his question further, or point out that she was perfectly capable of mixing drinks by herself, and did so on many occasions including this morning. Instead he said, “I was not going to suggest that I leave entirely. That would not be conducive to the promise I made to you five years ago. However I would understand if you preferred I take a step back. I do not want to intrude.”

“Vespa is not replacing you. I might’ve tried to tell myself her place in my heart closed over when it was replaced by a machine, but we both know very well that’s not true. It has been there since I met her twenty years ago and will remain until the day I drop. Likewise for yours. You will always be my dearest one, she will always be my love, and I don’t have to _make room_ for either of you. Vespa is— she won’t resent you, Jet. I’m sure you two will get on with time.”

“I already like Vespa.”

She blinked. “Do you?”

“What is not to like? She is very skilled at what she does, she cares for you deeply, and she is funny. She is a very good choice for a partner – in the sense of both a partner in life and a partner in crime.”

She hummed happily at his assessment. “The Jet Sikuliaq seal of approval, I’m honoured. Well, I'm glad. After all, who on Mars could duet with me as well as you on Lighthouse Bar Karaoke Night?"

"There is no Lighthouse Bar Karaoke Night," he said, which was the standard response by this point. Buddy had been using this 'reason' to persuade him from leaving ever since they met. As far as he knew, she had never even heard his singing voice.

She sipped her drink and raised one shoulder in a dignified shrug. "There's still time."

**Author's Note:**

> Yes I know I wrote Lighthouse Bar Karaoke Night in my old Buddy & Jet fic but this is way funnier of a concept. I live for the idea that they have a ridiculous number of inside jokes that absolutely no one (except _maybe_ Vespa) clocks because they're played completely straight.


End file.
